Keeping to the Road
by Ecri
Summary: Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Haldir, and Gandalf deal with things they should not have to, and all try to help the elf heal.


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Author's Note: This is a sequel to my last fic Fight the Fall and begins exactly where that fic ended.

This is inspired by the idea that the movie got it wrong. Haldir shouldn't have died, and, indeed, he and the other elves shouldn't have even been at Helm's Deep. This is an attempt to reconcile what we saw with what we read, so I suppose it's based on both the movie and the book.

Anything that seems familiar, especially lines of dialogue, are right from the movies. All ideas are inspired by the book and the movies. Any lines or scenes that I have taken directly from any other source or are too similar to scenes from the films are in _italics_. No disrespect is intended.

The scene of Legolas' farewell to Arwen in Rivendell was loosely based on a few seconds of film I saw in one of those behind the scenes things they've been airing on television since just before the film was released.

WARNING: If you have not seen TTT, or if you have not read the books, don't read this fic if you don't want to know what happens. Really. I mean it

DISCLAIMER: JRR Tolkien, The Tolkien Family, New Line Cinema, Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillipa Boyens own this stuff. I don't. I am only borrowing the universe because it's so much fun! I am making no money from this. I am actually making no money at all and am in desperate need of a job, but that's another story.

Please read and review.

Keeping to the Road (Sequel to Fight the Fall) by Ecri

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As they turned to the battlements, the three friends heard a sound that stopped them in their tracks. "That was no orc horn!" Legolas declared, trading glances with Aragorn whom, he was sure, had identified the sound as easily as he had. The trio broke into a run.

Outside, to their amazement, stood several thousand Elven warriors with Haldir of Lorien in the lead.

They listened to Haldir's words of greeting and his reaffirmation of the Alliance between elves and men, and then Aragorn could no longer contain himself. The Numenorean raced to Haldir embracing him in welcome.

Legolas laughed at this unexpected greeting and at Haldir's reaction to it. Once Aragorn stepped back, Legolas stepped forward, a twinkle in his eyes as he clasped Haldir's arms in friendship and in gratitude for what he and his warriors had just committed themselves to do.

Gimli heard his friend's laughter and felt in shatter the melancholia that had so firmly possessed the elf of late. Praising Aulë, he laughed himself, catching Aragorn's eye and giving the lad a nod as they shared their relief that the elf was more himself.

As the two friends silently rejoiced at what they saw as improvement, they would have been amazed to discover that Haldir saw quite the opposite. Haldir had known both Aragorn and Legolas for many years and though Legolas seemed more himself than he had been since entering Helm's Deep; elven senses could detect elven grief. He held Legolas' arms firmly, a question in his eyes. A slight nod and a slighter smile from the other elf reassured the warrior who saw Legolas Prince of Mirkwood as a youngster. Haldir returned the Prince's nod, but vowed to speak to him once the battle was over. Perhaps he would also speak to Aragorn Elessar as well. Elven grief was not a thing easily dismissed, but for now, they had a battle to win.

Theoden agreed to allow Aragorn and Haldir to command the elves. He wasn't sure they would listen to him, and since he didn't speak Elvish, he assumed it would be easier for them to take orders from those they already knew.

Aragorn offered as much advice as he could, wondering why they would tale orders from a man an age or more younger than the youngest of them, but lacking the time to ponder it further. He heard Legolas tell the elves of the weaknesses of the Uruk-Hai armor, but soon, sound was nearly lost amidst the din of battle.

The twang of bowstrings followed by the peculiar sound of arrows whistling through the air, the screams and battle cries of the Uruk-Hai gave way all too soon to the clatter of armored feet, the clash of swords, and the cries of dying men and boys.

__

The battle raged fiercely around them, when Aragorn saw a huge Uruk-Hai racing towards the walls, torch in hand. Filled with dread, he turned, scanning the battlements for Legolas. His eyes were drawn to a flash of blond hair as Legolas notched arrow after arrow. "Bring him down, Legolas! Kill him!" He cried in Elvish, some dread inside him telling him it would be too late.

Legolas let fly a string of arrows, and, though each hit the Uruk, none brought him down.

Once the Uruk disappeared from sight, the wall shook, then burst into pieces. Men. Elves, stones, and orcs were propelled outward as the wall on which they stood crumbled beneath them. Living creatures flailed in the air as they fell, but each projectile, stone or sentient, landed with a dull thud, often killing more as they landed.

Chaos and confusion reigned. Fire, smoke, and stone dust filled the air. Legolas could not see to aim his arrow, and the dust and smoke robbed him of his breath. Frantic, his eyes sought Aragorn and Gimli perhaps seeking reassurance that his friends yet lived.

**

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The battle went badly. They could all see that. Theoden pulled his people still deeper inside what was left of Helm's deep. Aragorn, fresh from creating a diversion to cover their retreat turned angry eyes on the King. "You said that Helm's Deep would not fall while your men defended it! They still defend it! They have died defending it!"

As Legolas and Gimli watched, Aragorn persuaded the King to commit to the battle. In moments they rode out against the orcs once more. Legolas rode upon Arod, keeping Aragorn in sight and rejoicing at each blast of the horn he knew Gimli had reached. They rode swiftly and surely over orcs as well as through them, and Legolas took Aragorn's advice showing the fell creatures no mercy.

Aragorn slashed at the orcs, Anduril cutting off their cries. He sensed a light growing from the east. In the pale golden light of the coming dawn, he saw hope itself made manifest. Shadowfax reared atop the hill, Gandalf astride the magnificent steed, staff held aloft. As the ranger watched, Eomer appeared at his side, and Aragorn saw their victory as clearly as he saw the riders of Rohan barreling down the hill behind Gandalf and Eomer moments later. The Sun continued to rise, red and round, and the spirits of the besieged at Helm's Deep rose with it. The battle, though not yet over, had turned.

**

The orcs were defeated, dead or running back to their master. Though victorious, men and elves had little desire to celebrate as they began to gather the dead and wounded.

Eowyn took charge of organizing a makeshift hall of healing, and Aragorn soon found himself pressed into service to assist the men and boys who yet clung stubbornly to life. He knew he was needed yet his heart was torn. He wanted to be with Legolas searching the piles of dead and wounded. He was still shaken by the elf's earlier grief, and he wanted to be there—especially when Haldir was found. 

Aragorn had been shaken when the elf of Lorien had been struck down in his arms, and leaving him where he fell seemed wrong, though he'd had no choice. He hadn't even had the chance to prepare Legolas for what he might find, before the elf had been whisked away by the other elven warriors. 

"I will be with him, Aragorn," Gimli had promised. "I will do all I can to save the elf from himself."

Aragorn had taken the dwarf at his word, but had made mention of Legolas' mental state to Gandalf. The Wizard had nodded gravely and though his words were kindly reassurances, Aragorn had seen the concern in his eyes.

Legolas, for his part, remained unaware of the worry he was causing his companions. Almost unconsciously, the young prince had sought out the company of his own kind. The remaining elves, few in umber, moved through the battlefield separating men and elves from the Uruk-Hai and orcs.

As each elf was found, a ripple of shock and despair would move through the Firstborn and they would gather together in support.

When finally they came upon the body of Haldir, every elf closed into a tight circle. Haldir had been a warrior of great reputation. He had long led the warriors of Lorien in battle, and had visited the other elven realms many times in his long life. Most of those present knew him, and even those small few who had never personally met him, knew enough of him to be stricken by his fall.

Legolas stared down at the unseeing eyes in disbelief and confusion. He recalled how he'd felt when Gandalf and Boromir had fallen, and again later, when he'd believed Merry and Pippin had died by the hands of their orc captors or by the vengeful, indiscriminate hands of the Riders of Rohan.

Haldir's death seemed more akin to the pain he'd felt when he believed Aragorn was dead, yet it was also altogether different. Haldir was immortal. He was destined to live for all eternity. He should have sailed for the undying lands.

Legolas felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Ceredlir, Haldir's second in command staring at him. "We await your orders, my prince."

Legolas blinked in surprise. "Nay, Ceredlir, you are Haldir's" He paused, his voice wavering on his friend's name. "You are now in command."

Ceredlir shook his head. "You are of the Royal Line, heir to Thranduil's throne. It is you whom we must obey—and—" He hesitated, seeming to sense Legolas would not like what he was about to say. "—and whom we must protect."

Legolas seemed startled by these words, and opened his mouth to speak, but Ceredlir continued. 

"For our sake as much as for yours."

Legolas paused, considering what was being said, and what was left carefully unsaid. He knew the Firstborn were leaving this land, losing their place and their power here in Middle-earth. He understood that, as one of the few of the royal line, he was seen as more than he was. Especially here and now, amidst all of this mind-numbing, soul-shattering death, he was becoming precious to these warriors, a sign, a symbolstill, he was not best suited to command. Most of these elves had lived ages longer than he himself. Many had fought in the Last Great Alliance of Elves and Men. Many, in other circumstances, would look upon him as a child. Besides which, though this battle was over, his part in this war was not.

"I am bound by obligation and oath to fight for Aragorn. I must see him take Gondor's throne or give my life in the attempt." Legolas glanced down at Haldir's body and fought another wave of grief. He forced his eyes up again, locking his gaze on Ceredlir. "I will go where he goes."

Ceredlir nodded. "As will we."

Legolas returned the nod, but could not bring himself to smile, even though the promise of support for Aragorn's cause should have cheered him. Together, he and Cerdlir lifted Haldir and moved him to rest with their other fallen comrades.

**

Gandalf watched the men and elves search through the piles of the dead. He assisted where he could, but it was with the living that he was most concerned. The men in some ways fared better now than did the elves for they were at least not surprised or shocked by the concept of death.

Gandalf had noted Gimli always within a few dozen feet of Legolas. The dwarf kept one eye always on his elven friend, and, in spite of the dire situation, he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought that the dwarf was so concerned for an elf, and yet would never admit such a thing. The delighted sense of irony faded quickly with the sight of the fallen.

When he and Eomer had finally arrived with the Riders of Rohan, he was afraid he was too late. The battle raged and the Uruks were capable of so much devastation. He'd spotted Aragorn quickly enough, and noticed what a toll he and his forces were having on the orcs. Still, no matter how many they seemed to have taken down, more quickly stepped into the breech. Orcs had no care who or how they killed so long as the victory was complete. Often they would bodily slam two warriors together, cracking open the skulls. Other orcs would seize upon a foe and use his body as a shield until it hung limp and lifeless to be tossed aside like an old rag.

His mind filled with thoughts of death and despair, Gandalf allowed his eyes to rest upon one elf in particular: Legolas, Son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood. The young elf, for young he was by the reckoning of his kind, had seen much since his departure from his father's house. Indeed, for an elf, he had probably lost more friends in the past few months than many of his kind lost in an age.

Even from this distance, Gandalf could see the toll such loss had taken on the Eldar. Oh, he did a fair job of hiding his anguish, but Gandalf was far older than he, and could see what younger races could not. The straight, stiff way he held himself, belying the grace of movement so natural in his race, the fear in his eyes as he approached another pile of bodies, the horror of recognition when he found an elf—and if that elf happened to be a friend

Gandalf closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. He was neither man nor elf, neither hobbit nor dwarf, yet he could feel as they did. More than the others of his kind, Gandalf had forged an emotional bond with Middle-earth and its inhabitants. The Istar had believed he should be familiar with the emotional capacities of each of the races Iluvatar had put on Middle-earth. It was when he himself tapped into those capacities that Gandalf was best able to counsel those beings.

He opened his eyes and watched the young prince again as he turned over the body of an orc to find Haldir, The shock and confusion on his face gave Gandalf pause. He observed the conversation between Legolas and Ceredlir, but it was when the two picked up the body of Haldir, that he realized something was amiss.

As he watched, he saw Ceredlir and Legolas carrying the body of Haldir. From solemn and despairing, their actions took on a frantic and surprised appearance. Gandalf moved swiftly, covering the distance separating him from the elves in a moment. 

Legolas turned to him as if sensing the Istar were nearby. "He lives, Mithrandir! Haldir yet lives!"

Sharing in his joy was easy. The Elven prince exuded it from every pore. Gandalf was more restrained. Most likely the elf was right, but he would take nothing for granted. Too many dark forces roamed Middle-earth these days.

Legolas and Ceredlir eased Haldir to the ground, and made room for Gandalf to examine the elf.

In moments, satisfying himself that nothing sinister had taken hold here, he mumbled a few words in a tongue no other present could understand. Nodding to himself as if in response to something only he could see or hear, he called to the elves clustered around him. "Come. We must get him to Aragorn."

In moments the elves had hoisted their leader off the ground and carried him inside Helm's Deep.

**

Aragorn gently raised a boy's head so that the child—for child he was— could drink the healing draught he'd prepared. "Easy. Rest now. You will be well." He lowered the boy—all of 12 years old—to his pallet, and looked around the room for another patient. Before he could claim one, he was startled to hear Gimli's voice calling to him. Glancing at the door, he saw his dwarven friend entering excitedly.

"Aragorn! Aragorn we have need of your skills! It is the most amazing thing I have yet seen in all my long life! That Wizard must have done something!"

"Peace, Gimli, what are you talking about?" 

Gimli described the scene he'd just witnessed outside finishing just as the elves, moving slowly so as not to jar their injured comrade, entered the room. In their lead was Gandalf who wasted no time finding Aragorn. He gestured for the elves to find an empty pallet, and moved swiftly to Aragorn's side for a consultation.

Aragorn listened carefully, barely daring to believe his friend lived. "Gandalf, this seems too much like magic! Surely you can better help him!"

Gandalf steered the man towards Haldir's pallet, the elves parting before him as if Galadriel herself walked in their midst. "You, my friend, are needed. I know how he has survived, and I know why, but his wounds still need to be tended."

Aragorn smiled. "That was vague, even for you, my friend."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it." Gandalf smiled as he and Aragorn knelt at Haldir's side.

**

Gandalf watched from across the room as Haldir received yet more visitors. It had been difficult to keep the elven warriors away when he and Aragorn had first begun to treat Haldir. After their initial shock at the news that he lived, they had agreed to allow Gandalf and Aragorn to treat him, but Gandalf surmised that had Legolas not vouched for Aragorn's skills, and had not he himself been present, the elven warriors might not have been so easily convinced.

It was his own conversation with Haldir that had surprised him. Almost as soon as he saw the ages old being, he'd realized that there was a reason for his return. He surmised, quite correctly, that Haldir had been chosen as a messenger. It was the message that had startled the Istar. Haldir had been unconscious through much of his initial treatment, but had, upon awakening, latched onto Gandalf's arm with surprising strength for one who had been so recently dead. His blue eyes looked fevered for a moment, but soon cleared. "Mithrandir!" He called, his voice weak, but gaining in strength. "Mithrandir, we have strayed from the Song! We have done what was not intended!"

It took Gandalf a moment to calm Haldir, but soon he learned what had so upset the elf. To stray from Iluvatar's Song was an elven phrase for something that was not intended or had unforeseen circumstances. What Haldir was saying was much more, however, than a turn of phrase.

"Mandos sent me back. He said we were not meant to be at Helm's Deep."

Gandalf nodded. He had expected as much, and he'd been amazed to find the elves in the thick of the fight upon his return with Eomer and the Riders of Rohan. "What of the others?"

"Mandos said all elves would be returned, but that if we choose to continue on our course in the War of the Ring, we would not return again."

Gandalf was not surprised by the generosity of Iluvatar and the Valar at returning the elves slain at Helm's Deep. The Firstborn held, after all, a position of particular favor with Iluvatar. He did, however, suspect something deeper was going on, though it was unlikely he would be made privy to the reasoning unless it suited some higher purpose to tell him. When Haldir was well, they would have to address the elven warriors to inform them of the choice that lay before them. True, they had each already chosen to ride into battle to defend Helm's Deep. The choice to risk their immortal lives in a fight that the Valar considered not their own was altogether a different matter.

"Mithrandir?" 

Haldir's soft voice shook the Istar from his thoughts. He raised his brows inviting the question.

"I have been told the battle was turned by your efforts."

Gandalf slowly shook his head. "Nay, not by mine alone, Haldir. I returned to Helm's Deep with reinforcements, but there would have been nothing left to save had not your warriors and Theoden's men fought so well."

Haldir nodded, though he was still distracted. Gandalf allowed the silence full reign, knowing that Haldir, with the patience of the eldest of the Eldar, would speak in his own time.

Finally, the elven warrior spoke, his eyes gazing intently into Gandalf's as if he thought he might find answers there different than the ones freely given. 

"Aragorn Elessar has done well. He has inspired these people to fight when there was little hope of success."

Gandalf nodded. "Aragorn possesses the blood of Numenor. It is as strong in him as it was in the first generation of Numenoreans."

"If he can defeat Sauron and gain the throne of Gondor, Middle-earth may well become the land it was in the first age."

Gandalf allowed himself a wry smile. "Nay, Haldir, it cannot again be as it was, though I do long to see it as such. The First Age has past, and, in truth, whether we defeat Sauron, or he defeats us, the Fourth will begin soon. Our time here draws to a close."

"My thoughts mirror yours, Mithrandir. In truth, though, I have decided. When we tell the other Eldar of the choice given us by the Valar, I will also be able to tell them that I intend to continue on the course I have chosen. I could not sail into the West, or enter the Halls of Mandos knowing I had not done all I could for the sake of those I leave behind."

Gandalf indicated the other elves working or visiting injured comrades. "It is likely you will not be alone in that decision. Those you left behind—though only briefly—have already declared themselves bound to protect Legolas, and he in turn is pledged to fight for Aragorn."

Haldir glanced around the room taking in the sight of the other elves tending or being tended. His gaze fell upon one elf in particular, and he frowned.

Gandalf noted the shadow in his eyes and followed his line of sight. Legolas stood nearby assisting another injured elf. He glanced back at Haldir, but the Eldar had not shifted his eyes from the Prince of Mirkwood. Gandalf waited hoping Haldir would continue to unburden himself. He had not long to wait.

"When first I arrived, I saw a great grief upon Legolas."

Gandalf nodded. He had noticed the same, though he had seen it lessen upon the sight of Haldir whole again. Again, he waited for Haldir to continue.

"It cannot be his friendsthey live. What is his grief?"

Gandalf sighed. "I suspect it is too much familiarity with mortals in one so young. For a time I was gone. Presumed deadwell, nothat's not right. I was dead. Then Boromir died and two of the Hobbits were taken." He paused now considering the fate of the Hobbits, wishing he knew the fate of two others he suspected were fast approaching the Black Gates of Mordor. He shook himself from those thoughts. "For a time, Aragorn was presumed dead, but" Gandalf smiled, "he proved that presumption false." 

Gandalf considered what little he knew of Legolas personally. They'd known each other for quite some time, but they were not close. The young Prince of Mirkwood was an enigma to him at times. Certainly the youngest elf still in Middle-earth, he lacked the somber attitude of some of those born an age earlier. Yet, he could become melancholy at the slightest provocation. Gandalf imagined losing his mother at such an early age had been the cause of those sudden, unpredictable shifts, though he wasn't about to suggest the connection to Haldir.

Even while they journeyed together as members of the Fellowship, Gandalf and Legolas had spoken rarely. In truth, the elf had spoken rarely to anyone, favoring Aragorn and the Hobbits with his few spoken words, and allowing his actions to speak of his loyalty to the others. Gandalf was fairly certain that Legolas' quick elven reflexes and tendency to act in the face of danger had saved every member of the Fellowship. He himself could recall the elf throwing him back against a wall of ice just as Saruman loosed the might of Caradhras upon them. Borormir, too, might have met an earlier end than he had, had Legolas not prevented him plunging headlong into the depths of Moria, and, of course, his prowess with both bow and knives had prevailed when Death loomed near. 

Gandalf had known elves who had died of grief. It was not a common occurrence, but it did happen. Usually, somehow, an elf was brought back from the abyss by friends or family, or, occasionally, by departing Middle-earth to sail into the West.

Legolas had no shortage of friends, and Galadriel had claimed the sea-longing would take him before the end of the War of the Ring. As far as Gandalf knew, that hadn't yet happened, so he had to conclude the Prince would not die of grief until it had. Of course, Galadriel herself would have laughed at such faulty logic. Things she saw did not always come to pass. Events could shift as sand in the wind. Indeed, in the face of Iluvatar's reversal of the passing of so many elven warriors, it seemed likely that whatever lay before them would be altered from the original path.

Reaching a sudden decision, Gandalf leaned forward, his voice soft and low as he spoke of it. "It seems to me, Haldir, that perhaps our young friend could use some advice if he chooses to remain in the mortal world."

**

Legolas had intended to visit Haldir, but when he entered, the elf was deep in conversation with Gandalf. Compelled to help where he could, he approached Aragorn who quickly put his friend to work assisting Eowyn and himself with the sick. Legolas offered water and food to those who needed it, helped change bandages, and sometimes merely assisted the injured to shift positions, sitting up or laying down.

In the midst of his duties, he felt someone looking at him. He tried to dismiss it, but when it persisted, he searched the room. He caught a glimpse of Haldir and Mithrandir still deep in conversation, so it wasn't them. His eyes scanned the room again and came to rest on a man, one of Theoden's. He sat on a makeshift pallet cradling a boy of maybe 12 or 13 winters. From the tears staining his face and the red rimming his eyes, if not from the way he clutched desperately at the boy, Legolas guessed the boy, a son or nephew or perhaps just a friend, was dead. What he didn't quite understand was the look of loathing the mad directed at him. 

Uncomfortable, yet not at all intimidated, Legolas worked his way across the room, helping as many as he could until at last he found himself beside Haldir. The Elven warrior sat alone, Mithrandir having apparently stepped away.

"You, _nin mellon_, are a welcome sight!"

Haldir returned the Prince's smile. "As are you. I had hoped to speak to you since before our battle began."

Legolas brow creased. "Why?"

Haldir looked away for a moment, gathering his strength and resolve. It was not an easy subject to discuss, even among family members, yet he would not leave one of his own kind without the counsel of the Eldar. He turned back to face Legolas. "Your grief was a palpable thing when first I arrived, Prince."

Legolas waved his hand at the title. "Nay, _nin mellon_, call me Legolas."

"Legolas. You have lost someone."

"I have lost myselfto grief. I have promised not to give in to it until I see my quest's end."

"An interesting promise."

"Made to an interesting man."

"Aragorn." Haldir guessed, his eyes seeking the mortal man who would be king.

Legolas nodded.

Haldir turned his attention back towards Mirkwood's Prince. "You are young, Legolas. Do not throw away your life needlessly."

Legolas was startled by the words. They were the same he'd used with Aragorn before the battle began. "I do not choose to die."

"Choosing not to die is not the same as choosing to live."

Before Legolas could ponder the meaning of his friend's words, all attention in the room was drawn to the man Legolas had seen earlier grieving the loss of his son. He was but a pallet or two away from Legolas and Haldir, loudly struggling to contain his emotions, and cradling the body of the boy.

In a moment, the man, realizing Legolas was looking at him, released the boy, and lunged towards the elf. In surprise, Legolas took a step back, but his uncertainty left him less prepared in the face of an ally's attack than it would have been had he been facing orcs.

The man drew his own sword and held it threateningly at the Prince's throat. His other hand held the elven wrist in a firm, harsh grip. Legolas, with the one hand still under his own control, reached for his own knives, but hesitated to draw them. He need not have worried about weapons, however, as several elves rushed to his side, bows and arrows, swords and knives pointed at the mortal man who threatened their prince.

Legolas knew he had to defuse the situation so he released his grip on his knife hilt and held his empty hand in a placating gesture. "I have done you no harm. What is it you want of me?"

"No harm? You and your kind are walking away from this battleeven those who fell have come back! Why? Why should your deaths be temporary while around you mendie!"

Legolas held still as stone. "I know not why. I know only that we fought for your sake."

The man gave a strangled cry, tears of anguish, rage, and grief spilling down his face as he made threatening gestures with his blade.

**

Aragorn had managed to find a secluded corner of the room housing the wounded. He sat heavily in the chair, crossed his arm over his chest, and closed his eyes enjoying the silence. After the insanity of battle, and the mad rush to treat the wounded and find the slain, the quiet peace seemed a welcome respite. He did not quite sleep, but he was roused from the edges of slumber by the sound of swords and swearing.

In moments, he was awake and bolting across the room wondering what villain could have entered their stronghold.

He slid to a stop taking in the unexpected sight of Legolas, arm gripped by one of Theoden's men who held a sword to his throat, while five elves stood near the Prince, weapons drawn. He heard Legolas speaking, but could not make out the words. Forcing himself to action, he raced to his friend's side.

**

Gimli stood almost unnoticed behind the man who dared attack his friend. His axe was drawn and at the ready, but a plea in the eyes of that crazy elf stayed his hand. The dwarf's exasperation would have found voice had not Gandalf begun to speak.

"You have no need to attack. All here are your friends."

"NO!" The man yelled, finally able to speak. "Why do we watch our kin die while he and his can live forever."

Legolas opened his mouth as if to speak, but a look at Gandalf had him close it again. He looked at the man, stricken with rage and grief and unanswered questions, but before he could decide what to do, Aragorn stood before him, his hands held out empty and pleading. 

"Killing him will not bring back those you have lost." Aragorn's voice, clear, low, unthreatening, seemed to calm the man for a moment, but a moment was all the man allowed.

Shaking his head violently, he looked deeply into Legolas' eyes and began pleading for answers. "Why? Why are you allowed to live forever? Why are your kind resurrected? Walking again after being killed by orcs! What makes you better?"

Legolas searched for words, answers to this mortal's questions, but those he found, those he knew his father would use, sounded haughty and arrogant. _We are the Firstborn. We hear Iluvatar's song. We made a choice he would not have us make. _Thoughts of his father brought to him the realization that Middle-earth was about to change. No matter who won this war, it would nevermore be for him the land it had always been. His kind would leave Middle-earth. He knew one day he would follow. He vowed there and then he would not leave be before his mortal friends.

Legolas returned the man's gaze, feeling the man's grief as it fed his own. His eyes were wide as he recalled Boromir's fall; as he remembered Moria; as he remembered the words of the yrch who had told him that Aragorn had died. He recalled his fear that the children of Theoden's realm would be forced into battle. He thought of Frodo and Sam wandering through Mordor alone. 

As these thoughts chased around his mind, something of them, of his personal thoughts and griefs, and confusion showed clearly on his face and in his eyes. The man, staring deeply into the elven eyes, searching for answers to his questions, saw some small measure of Legolas' sorrow. His cries stopped. His sword point dipped. The ageless anguish, more intense and eternal than his own, forced the sword from his hand. He dropped it as though life had drained from his fingers, and he fell to the floor, still lamenting the dead that would not be returned to life.

Aragorn, relieved, stepped forward and pried the man's grip from Legolas' wrist. Only then did the elven warriors—and Gimli—lower their weapons.

Legolas stared at the man, feeling his grief and not noticing that Aragorn was carefully examining his wrist for bruises or breaks.

When Aragorn found nothing, he gestured for some of Theoden's men to help the poor man off the floor. 

Gimli stepped forward. "What? Is that all? He's assisted to a chair for his troubles?"

Aragorn turned to answer the dwarf, but Legolas spoke first. "Peace, _elvellon_. The man's grief overtook him. I would not see him suffer more because of that."

Clearly not happy, Gimli allowed the answer to stand, though he mumbled something about tender hearted elves before he replaced his axe,

When Aragorn pronounced his wrist perfectly fine, Legolas nodded. "That is well. I seem to be needed." He gestured towards Gandalf who walked smoothly across the room. Reaching the other members of the Fellowship, he regarded the elf carefully.

"Some mortals lash out in anger when their grief overwhelms them." Gandalf's eyes searched Legolas' face, for what the Elf could not guess.

Legolas returned the Istar's gaze. "Reason ends where grief begins."

Gandalf seemed surprised by the elf's words. When he spoke again, tone and timbre seemed more that of Gandalf the Grey than Gandalf the White. "That may be so, but given a chance, reason returns." He spared a glance at Aragorn, and Gimli. Both were obviously concerned for their friend. Gandalf could tell it was time to take matters into his own hands.

"Come, my friend." He gestured for the elf to follow him. "You have been too long indoors."

Legolas followed, his anticipation at the thought of fresh air tainted by the thought that he would be standing once more in the field of a battle so recently ended. To his surprise, Gandalf led him not outside, but up. In moments they stood on the highest battlements of Helm's Deep. Legolas noticed the horn that Gimli had blown earlier to rally the battle, but his attention was quickly drawn to the breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his long hair fluttering in the air as though unseen hands ran through it, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Gandalf sat facing the elf not commenting. He took in the pleasure this Prince of the Firstborn felt at the touch of air on his skin, and knew that he had indeed been too long indoors. Making a quick decision, he closed his own eyes, but instead of a smile, a look of intense concentration claimed his own features. A moment of two of soft mumbling followed, then, looking nothing if not pleased with himself, Gandalf opened his eyes to admire his handiwork. Legolas still stood, eyes closed, still enjoying the breeze, but where previously the scent of blood, both orc and otherwise, had wafted on the air, a faint scent of flowers, earth, and grass erased even the memory of battle.

Gandalf looked up at the sky, a scowl transforming his features. In another moment, the sun shone through the clouds to rest on the pair. Legolas moved slightly angling his face towards the sun allowing the warmth to stir something insideto warm not just body, but soul. 

Opening his eyes, the elf sought Gandalf. "Thank you."

"I have done nothing."

"Untrue, my friend. You have awakened something in me."

Gandalf considered Legolas' words. "Less awakened something than reawakened it, or perhaps merely shifted perspective."

"Whatever it was, Mithrandir, you have given me hope."

Gandalf moved closer to the elf. "Legolas, the wisest of us may lose our paths from time to time. The trick is to know whom to follow to find your way back again. You may have felt despair or fear before battle began, but you yourself held true to your words. You need no help from me. You merely needed a moment, a silent moment to reacquire the Song."

Legolas nodded. He could hear the Song more clearly now than he had since battle began. Overwhelmed by grief and fear for his friends, he had not realized its soft soothing tones had been muted.

He looked again at his friend and seemed to decide something. "You have died and come back. Haldir has died and come back" He paused as if unsure he should continue.

"Go on." Gandalf encouraged.

"That man was right. Why are we allowed this and men are not, nor dwarves, nor hobbits?"

"It is not for us to question, Legolas. You know perfectly well that the Valar are neither unkind nor unjust. The path of mortals is a separate path from ours. We can help them. We can sometimes guide thembut we cannot tread their path for themor with them."

Legolas shook her head. "Arwen"

"Has a path of her owna path only Lúthien had tread before."

Legolas considered this. "Boromir" He stopped looking at the Istar. "He will not return."

"No."

"The thought of his passingof Aragorn oror Gimli" The elf shuddered as a shadow crossed his face.

"Legolas, Elven grief is hard to bear, but bear it you canif you remember the most important thing."

"What?"

"Do not grieve now for the inevitable losses that will come. Grieve each passing as it happens. Aragorn, Gimlithey are here. They are well. Haldir is well. I am well. Grieving now for what has not yet happened will diminish your time with them. If, when you see them, you see only your future without them, you cannot enjoy their company while you have it."

Legolas had not realized that was what he was doing, but of course it was. "Your wisdom means much to me, Mithrandir. I will do as you say."

"And if you find yourself falling, remember your friends are here to catch youto keep you upon the road."

Legolas smiled, and, for the first time in days, the smile touched his eyes, lending them a twinkle and a sparkle matched only by starlight. "I will remember."

Gandalf returned the smile, and, companionably, they sat and enjoyed the afternoon sun.

End


End file.
